


A for effort

by chick_with_wifi



Series: Isn't there a law against that? [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Now with fixed formatting!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chick_with_wifi/pseuds/chick_with_wifi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life at high school is never simple, but for Root and her friends that is the understatement of the century.<br/>Featuring: Root's bad science puns, protective!Shaw, fluff, hijinks and shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

The sun beat down hard as Root, John and Sameen sat at one of the picnic tables on the grass outside their school. It was early summer, which meant the school year was almost over, and it was exam season. Root munched an apple, while Sameen devoured a sandwich almost as big as her. “Hi, Harry,” said Root brightly as their friend sat down next to John, holding three calculators and two water bottles. “Was your Chemistry final as…” She paused to make sure she got the right words, counting each phrase on her fingers as she said it, “mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly, Earth-shatteringly dull as your mock?” 

Harold nodded darkly, “yes.” 

“Harold,” began Sameen, one eyebrow raised, “why do you have three calculators?” 

“And two water bottles,” added John. 

“In case one of them breaks,” replied Harold as if it were obvious. 

“OK, are we talking about the water bottles or the calculators?” asked Sameen. 

Harold sighed. “The calculators.” He got his lunch out of his bag and spread it out on the table. “My final went well, in case any of you were wondering.” 

Root smiled and took another bite of her apple. 

Another set of footsteps approached their table. This time it was Lionel brandishing a laptop. “Can one of you nerds help me?” 

“What can we do for you?” asked Harold. 

“My History essay is due today and it didn’t save.” 

Harold was about to offer his assistance when Root raised one hand to stop him and tossed her apple core into the trash with the other. “I got it, you’re eating.” Lionel passed her the laptop and she hummed and began typing. “What was the document called?” 

“Lionel Fusco history essay.” 

“Creative,” smirked Sameen. 

Root resisted the urge to laugh as she typed, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’ve emailed it to you, Lionel.” 

“Thanks. They don’t call you the best in the business for nothing,” said Lionel. 

“I’m pretty sure they don’t call me that,” Root pointed out. 

“Well, they should, Coco Puffs.” 

John’s phone buzzed and he checked it. “Guys, Joss just texted to say there’s a party at her house tonight. We should go!” 

“I’m in,” said Lionel. 

“What the hell, I’ll go,” shrugged Sameen. 

“Harold?” asked John. 

The other man took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “I’m not sure that would be wise considering the gargantuan amount of studying I have to do…” 

“Oh, come on Harry!” cajoled Root. “I’ll go if you will.” 

He faltered, “well, I suppose it might be alright.” 

Root grinned. “That’s my guy. And who knows? You might even have fun!” 

“I think that’s pushing it a bit too far,” responded Harold dryly. 

***** 

The first lesson was German, which Root and Sameen had together. They were in a computer room so they could do old past papers online in preparation for the upcoming final. 

“Do you have your speaking assessment today?” asked Root, leaning over to try and read Sameen’s notes. 

Shielding her notes with her arm, Sameen sighed. “Yes. Now let me concentrate.” 

“But it’s much more fun to annoy you,” protested Root. 

“For you, maybe,” growled Sameen. 

“Girls,” Mr Weeks called over to them. “If you have nothing to do I’m sure I can find you something.” 

Root smiled sweetly at him. “That won’t be necessary.” 

She logged onto a computer and opened up a past paper. She then opened a new tab and went on to a piece of online word-picking software. She typed the word ‘success’ in three times and set it to do a fruit machine-style pick. “Hey, Sameen,” she whispered. “Let’s find out how you’re going to do in your assessment.” The software landed on one of the three ‘success’s and Root gasped. “You’re going to succeed!” 

Sameen pulled Root’s keyboard closer to her. “Let me do one. Close your eyes.” Root obliged. “Open them. Let’s find out what you are.” As the fruit machine scrolled through the options Root laughed. It landed on ‘twit’ after scrolling through ‘nerd’ ‘geek’ and ‘idiot’. 

“Aww, Sameen!” She put her hand on her chest like it was the greatest compliment ever. “You think I’m a twit?” 

“You’re a twit, but you’re my twit.” 

***** 

The next lesson was Chemistry, which the whole squad had together. “You can choose your partner for this experiment,” said the teacher Dr Ingram. There was a collective scraping of chairs as everybody in the class fought over who went with whom. 

“I’m going with Root,” announced Sameen. “Somebody has to make sure this idiot doesn’t blow herself up.” 

“Can I work with you, Harold?” asked John. 

Zoe linked arms with Joss and Lionel sighed, giving them both dirty looks. “Sure, no problem. Leave me to work with some randomer.” 

“You could always work with Kara,” suggested John. 

Lionel looked across the room and caught the eye of a pretty brunette girl. “You’ve redeemed yourselves this time,” he grumbled. 

As they were getting their lab equipment ready, Root said, “hey Sameen, what do you call it when a metal gives an electron to a non-metal it doesn’t like? An ironic bond.” 

Sameen groaned. 

“What do you call it when a famous metal gives an electron to a non-metal?” 

“I don’t think I want to know,” muttered Sameen. 

“An iconic bond,” said Root triumphantly. 

“What do you call someone 110% done with their friend’s bad chemistry puns? Sameen Shaw.” 

Root laughed so hard she started coughing and tried to disguise it as more laughter so the teacher wouldn’t notice, but all it achieved was some worried looks as she turned bright red and tried to hide behind Sameen. 

Dr Ingram clapped his hands together. “Class, quiet down! I trust you have all the equipment you need. If not, tough. First step, measure 20ml of the solution labelled A…” 

With practised hands, Sameen measured the solution precisely and poured it into the test tube. 

“Now add the copper and record your observations in your books.” 

Sameen did as he said, and sat down. 

Root pouted. “This experiment is boring. We should add some magnesium!” 

“We don’t have any magnesium,” Sameen pointed out. 

“This then.” She picked up the bottle of sulfuric acid and was about to pour some into the test tube when Sameen wrestled it off her. 

“Are you trying to set the school on fire?” asked Sameen exasperatedly. 

“That would make a pretty interesting headline. ‘Thornhill High burns down in lab accident’. Hey, do you know why it’s called Thornhill High?” 

“Cos it’s a high school?” offered Sameen. 

“No, the Thornhill part.” Root leaned closer to her like it was a big secret. “They say it was named after a reclusive billionaire Ernest Thornhill, but he hasn’t been seen in years.” She widened her eyes and lowered her voice. “Some say he was murdered.” 

“I figured you’d be interested in conspiracy theories,” said Sameen. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Root leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. 

“Nothing. You just seem like the suspicious type who would be into all these reclusive person stories.” 

Root shrugged. “You’re not wrong.” 

***** 

After school it was the final practice before the school’s athletics tournament. John and Sameen were stood at the side of the pitch warming up, while Root and Harold were sat in the bleachers, poring over Harold’s laptop. 

Coach Hersh blew his whistle and all the kids milling around the field formed a semicircle around him. “Alright, everyone. You’re going to run the three hundred meters first, then we’ll see where things go from there. On the track I want Shaw, Cole, Rosseau and Lambert. Today people!” The four kids got into position on the running track and waited for Hersh to blow his whistle again. As soon as he did they were off, tearing around the track. On the second lap, Sameen drew level with her nemesis, Martine Rosseau. They shared a look, and Martine stepped on Sameen’s sneaker lace which promptly came untied. Sameen gave the other girl her death glare, but she just smirked and sped up. Sameen tried to carry on running but her sneaker was loose and she was forced to stop and re-tie it. While she was down everybody else overtook her, and she tried to stay calm. Tie your lace then you can catch up with these morons, she told herself. Once it was securely tied she sprinted the rest of the way, but she was too far behind. She came last. 

“Shaw, what was that?” asked Coach Hersh. “You are one of my best runners, I expected better from a professional like you.” 

Sameen’s face remained impassive. “I’m sorry, Coach. It won’t happen again.” 

“It’d better not, I’m counting on you.” He headed to the side of the pitch to collect the javelins for the next activity. 

Sameen caught Martine’s eye and glared at her. “Jealous, Sam?” asked Martine mock-innocently. “We all knew I was bound to beat you someday.” 

Sameen rolled her eyes and sat next to Root on the bleachers to have a drink, wiping her forehead with her towel. 

“It wasn’t fair,” said Root. Sameen looked at her. “What Martine did. She sabotaged you!” 

Sameen sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Just forget it.” 

“It matters to me! You are easily the best athlete on the team, and if Martine can’t handle that then she doesn’t deserve to compete.” 

Sameen closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “What are you going to do about it?” 

Root grinned. “I’m glad you asked. Harold and I have a plan.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t we, Harry?” 

He looked up from his laptop. “We do?” 

“Yes, we do.” 

He pushed his glasses up his nose and tried not to look too worried. “We do.” 

Sameen smiled and shook her head. “Good luck with this plan then. I gotta go beat Martine’s ass at javelin.” 

They all got up at the same time, Sameen heading down to the field and Root dragging Harold towards the chemistry labs. Once they were inside, she looked left and right before peering through the glass panel on the door. Silently opening the door, she snuck in, closely followed by Harold. 

“Are you sure we won’t get caught?” whispered Harold. 

“Relax, Harry. The labs don’t get locked until five and the cleaners finish their rounds at four.” 

Harold’s eyes widened. “Why do you know this? In fact, no. I don’t want to know so I cannot be associated in any way with your criminal behaviour.” 

Root smiled. “I love how you think I commit crimes left, right and center.” She set up a Bunsen burner and began rifling through the cupboards, getting out two round dishes and a few bottles of lead shavings. She poured the lead shavings into each of the dishes and, using a wooden clamp, held one over the flame. As the lead shavings melted, she explained what she was doing. “Shot puts are generally made from iron, but we are making one out of lead, which is denser than iron. Martine will not be able to throw it as far, and will look stupid.” 

“That is your grand master plan?” 

Root pouted. “What is wrong with my grand master plan?” 

“Nothing,” Harold said hastily. “It’s just...are you trying to woo Sameen by sabotaging her enemy’s athletics tournament?” 

“Now you’re getting it! That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, and it’s not over yet.” She melted the second set of lead shavings and clamped the two halves together. After a few seconds she removed the dishes and held up a perfectly formed shot put. “Let’s go make Martine lose.” 

Outside, Coach Hersh was handing out the shot puts. Just as he was about to give Martine hers, Root deliberately crashed into him and made him drop it. “Coach, I am so sorry,” she said, leaning down, pocketing the shot put and handing him the lead one she had been holding behind her back. 

“Thank you, Groves,” he said stiffly as she went to sit back down next to Harold. 

“Stage one completed,” she whispered smugly. “I’ll tell you when it’s time for stage two.” They watched as Martine struggled to throw her shot put, and it landed two feet closer than everybody else’s. Sameen’s went the furthest, closely followed by John’s. Harold and Root applauded. 

“That’s it for practice,” announced Coach Hersh. “Ten minute breather, then the competition begins for Thornhill High’s Athlete of the Year.” 

Root and Harold moved up to make room for John and Sameen. “Feeling confident?” asked Root. 

John shrugged. “I guess.” 

Sameen playfully elbowed him. “You’re, like, a giant. You could run the three hundred meters in one stride!” 

“She’s not wrong,” Harold pointed out. “Besides, you are both excellent athletes.” 

“Thanks, Harold,” said John. 

When it was time for the race to begin, everybody was stood in position. Coach Hersh blew his whistle and they were off. Martine, John and Sameen were in the lead, leaving Michael, Jeremy and Jason in their dust. For a few seconds they were neck in neck, and Root was stood up in the bleachers cheering for Sameen. Just before the finish line, Sameen pulled ahead and won. 

Root applauded while her friend stood with her hands on her thighs, panting. When she caught Root’s eye, Root ‘winked’ at her and gave her two thumbs-up.   
While Hersh was instructing everyone on what to do for the final surprise challenge (how many people could run the 100 meters in under 17 seconds), Root asked Harold if she could borrow his laptop. 

“What for?” 

“Stage two,” she replied cryptically. 

“Sta- wait. Did you know what the final challenge was going to be?” 

Root scoffed,”no...yes. Look, can I use your laptop or not?” 

Harold handed it to her. “Remember to delete your history; I don’t want to be arrested.” 

“Absolutely.” Martine was the first up to do the final challenge, and as she ran, Root began typing furiously. Once Martine reached the finish line the time on the scoreboard showed 18 seconds. 

“Sorry, Rosseau. Looks like it isn’t your lucky day,” sympathised Coach Hersh. Martine all but growled and went to sulk next to Jeremy Lambert. Root handed Harold’s laptop back to him and smiled innocently. Sameen was the only person who managed to complete the challenge, although John was very close. Coach Hersh congratulated Sameen. “Well done, Shaw. you’ll get your trophy in assembly next week.” 

Root high-fived Sameen, and Harold and John expressed their congratulations. “We can go to Joss’s party to celebrate,” said John. “I’ll see you all there.” Slowly, the group of kids disbanded. 

“Well done again, Sameen,” said Root. “I’ll see you at the party.” 

***** 

When Root arrived the party was already in full swing. Teenagers were milling around holding cups of punch that, she suspected, were slightly more alcoholic than Joss’s parents intended. 

“Hey, you made it!” said John, coming up to her with his arm around Joss. 

“You’re Sam, right?” asked Joss. 

“Call me Root.” 

“Root. You look great, by the way.” 

Root blushed. “Thanks.” She was wearing her best knee-length red dress and her long, dark hair was curled and fell over one shoulder. She had even made an effort with make-up, bright red lipstick and eyeliner. 

“Where are the others?” asked Root. 

“Lionel is over there,” said John, pointing to where their friend was sat, trying and failing to chat up some blondes. “Harold is yet to arrive and Sameen is...wow.” Root followed their gaze to the doorway and felt her eyes subconsciously widen. Sameen was wearing heels, a black dress and, for once, her long hair was loose. Suffice to say, she looked amazing. 

Sameen raised her eyebrows. “What, John? You didn’t think I could pull this off?” 

Joss gave John a sharp dig in the ribs. “We’ll leave the two of you alone.” 

Root turned her gaze to the floor before Sameen could notice her staring. 

***** 

Sameen and Root were sat on the floor of the study of Joss’s house. Neither of them were party animals, but they didn’t want to leave, so eventually they found themselves in search of a quieter place upstairs. 

“Sameen is an unusual name,” commented Root. 

“It’s Persian,” she replied. 

“You’re Persian?” asked Root in surprise. 

“My mom is.” 

“Do you speak Farsi?” 

Sameen nodded, feeling quite proud that Root was interested in her heritage. 

“Can you say something in Farsi?” 

She obliged. 

“What does that mean?” asked Root, shuffling slightly closer to the other woman. 

“It means you’re really hot.” 

Root’s face stretched into a Cheshire Cat grin. “Aww, Sameen!” She honestly looked like she was about to burst from happiness. 

“So, do you speak any other languages?” asked Sameen. 

Root nodded. “You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.” She held up her right hand, palm facing away from her with her middle and ring fingers folded down. “That’s American Sign Language for ‘I love you’.” 

“You sign?” 

“My dad is deaf. That’s why I go by Root, my sign name is literally the sign for a plant root.” She demonstrated, placing her left hand flat in front of her chest with her palm facing towards her and her right hand underneath it with her palm facing down. She moved her right hand diagonally down and away from herself while spreading her fingers out. 

Sameen attempted to copy, and got is just about right. “That is a really unusual choice for a name,” she commented. 

“It’s a long story.” 

Sameen lent against the wall. “What do you reckon the others are doing?” 

“John and Joss are probably making out, Harold discussing books with Grace like we left him and Lionel being rejected by every girl at this party.” 

Sameen nodded. “You’re probably right.” 

Root abruptly moved away from Sameen and began coughing. She was doubled over, one hand over her mouth and the other braced against the floor, holding her up. After about a minute of long, hard coughing she placed her other hand on the floor and slowly breathed. 

“Are you OK?” asked Sameen. 

“Yeah,” replied Root, voice croaky. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. I have cystic fibrosis.” She was overcome by another fit of coughing, but this time she stood up and ran towards the bathroom. Worried, Sameen followed her. Root stood, holding onto the wall, and coughed so hard she vomited into the toilet. Sameen wordlessly held Root’s hair out of the way and rubbed her back until she was finished. 

“Thanks,” panted Root, rinsing her mouth at the sink. She slid down the wall and sat in the fetal position with her eyes closed. 

“That happen often?” asked Sameen, sitting next to her. 

“Sometimes. Not usually during the day, though.” She rested her head on Sameen’s shoulder. “It takes a lot out of me. There’s all this gunk in my lungs that needs to come out and that’s the only way to do it.” 

After a couple of minutes she stood up. “Let’s see what’s happening at this party.” 

“You sure you’re up for it?” asked Sameen, also standing up. 

Root nodded, and straightened her dress.


	2. chapter 2

“Hey, Root,” greeted Sameen as her friend entered the classroom a few days later and sat on the table with her feet on a chair. “How did it go a at CF clinic yesterday?” 

Root had missed the afternoon of school to go to the hospital for her quarterly check-up. 

“It went well. No new infections, so I don’t need any more antibiotics. They did say I need to do more exercise, to help my lungs.” 

Harold joined them at their desk. “Root, I was hoping to enlist your help with a coding project,” he said. “I don’t suppose you could look over it with me after school?” 

“Of course,” smiled Root. 

“What are you nerds up to now?” asked Sameen. 

“A freelance project,” replied Harold cryptically. 

Root rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hand. “I like the sound of this.” 

Sameen rolled her eyes. “It’s no wonder half the school thinks you’re dating.” 

Root almost fell of the table in surprise. “People think that?!” 

Sameen shrugged. “Apparently.” 

“No offense Harry. I love you, but you’re not my type. The big lug follows him around like a lost puppy, I can understand that - but me and Harold?” 

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Miss May who took the register. Every time she turned her back, Root mouthed ‘me and Harold?’ at Sameen with a horrified expression on her face. 

***** 

Just after the bell rang for lunch, Root was nearly crushed in the throngs of people stood in the hallway. Thankful for her small stature, she was able to force her way through the crowd to join John and Sameen. “What’s going on?” 

“Some idiot tried to sneak a six pack of beer into school and hide it in their locker,” explained Sameen, making it quite clear how she felt about this idiot. “So now the rest of us have to suffer while they examine our lockers. As if any of the rest of us would be dumb enough to try that.” 

“Everyone’s lockers,” squeaked Root. 

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” asked John. 

Root nodded worridly. “I’ll see y’all later.” Once again she braved the sea of people and managed to get to where she and Harold had neighbouring lockers. As she arrived, Harold was turning an unattractive shade of red as Mr Greer took a box pristinely labelled ‘Harold’s computer equipment’ out of his locker and examined it. Root winced out of secondhand awkwardness and gently patted her friend’s arm. Greer opened the box and glanced in confusion at the state-of-the-art webcam, microphone and raspberry pi. 

“Fancy yourself a technician do you, Mr Finch?” asked Greer. 

Harold didn’t reply, instead staring steadfastly at the floor. 

“Very well, moving on.” He opened Root’s locker and was very nearly taken down by a small avalanche of books. “At least we know you haven’t been shirking your schoolwork,” he muttered. 

Packed in around her leather jacket collection was the most random assortment of objects. By that time, John, Joss, Lionel and Sameen had joined them, and stood staring in horror (or in Sameen’s case pride, and Joss’s exasperation) as Greer removed the objects one by one. “We have a microphone, a wireless GPS tracker, pen knife, polygraph.” He continued to pull gadgets out of every nook and cranny, with every single one Root looking more and more like she wanted the ground to swallow her up. “Burner phone, WiFi router.” 

Joss muttered to Root, “you do know half of that stuff is illegal, right?” 

Root nodded, “yes.” 

“OK, just do you know.” 

Greer finished his examination of her locker and shoved all her stuff into Harold’s cardboard box. They both cringed at the sound of his computer equipment being crushed. “I would put you both in detention for the foreseeable future, but that would involve telling everybody that these gadgets were in out school without our knowledge, so I will settle for telling you both to stay out of trouble. If I see so much as one comma out of place you will be suspended. Understand?” 

Root and Harold nodded. 

“Good.” Greer slammed Root’s locker shut and stormed away. 

Root looked at her locker and whimpered. “I went to such trouble to get all that stuff,” she whinged. 

“You could always steal it back,” suggested Sameen. 

Root’s face brightened up and Joss facepalmed. “Don’t go giving her ideas!” 

“Are any of you actually planning on going to class?” asked Lionel, gesturing to the now-empty hallway. 

“Yes, of course,” said Harold. “Let us leave.” 

“And other salad ingredients!” added Root enthusiastically, laughing at her own pun. 

“Get out right now,” ordered Sameen, pointing to the door. “I will not tolerate puns like that in my presence.” 

***** 

After school, Root met Harold in the computer room. He was already sat at a computer and getting out his memory stick when she arrived. Root sat next to him, got an apple out of her bag and started eating it. 

“No eating near the computers,” Harold reminded her. “After all, we are on red alert.” 

She shrugged, “mphs gnn mlow?” 

“What?” 

Root swallowed her mouthful of apple. “I said, who’s gonna know? I bet half the staff don’t even know we have computer rooms.” 

He smiled. “You are, as always, correct.” He opened his code and Root leant over his shoulder to look at it. Harold pointed to a line of code. “I think there might be an error somewhere here. I thought a fresh set of eyes might be beneficial.” 

“There’s a typo,” said Root, reaching an arm over his shoulder and the other around his waist in order to re-type the line. The door swung open and they both froze. 

“See, this is why people think you’re dating,” deadpanned Sameen. 

Root untangled herself and stood up. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?” 

“Looking for you. I’m going to the gym and wondered if you would like to come, since the hospital said you need to do more exercise.” 

Root smiled from ear to ear. “I’d love to. See ya, Harry.” She leant down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. 

On their way out, Sameen asked, “are you sure you two aren’t dating?” 

“Like I said before, he’s not my type. And you’ve seen him with Grace, right? It’s like watching the Discovery Channel - two nerds meeting for the first time in their natural habitat.” 

Sameen already had her gym clothes, so they decided to stop off at Root’s house in order to get her something suitable to wear. 

***** 

Root unlocked the door and led Sameen into the living room. “I’ll tell my dad the plan, then we can consult my wardrobe. In the spacious, brightly-lit living room there was a man with the same dark hair as Root sat on one of the sofas reading a newspaper. Root waved her hand next to the newspaper and he looked up at her. 

“This is my friend S-A-M-E-E-N,” said Root, signing as she spoke and fingerspelling the name. “We’re going to the gym.” 

Mr Groves signed something in reply, which Root quickly translated as ‘nice to meet you, Sameen. Do you want anything to eat before you go?’ 

Sameen nodded, “yes please.” 

Mr Groves signed again, and Root nodded. “He said there are some biscuits in the kitchen we can have.” 

After rifling through a cupboard, Root handed a biscuit to Sameen, ate one herself and took her medication before leading her friend upstairs to her room. It was a decently sized room with a purple shag rug in the middle of the carpet and a lava lamp on the bedside table. She picked out black leggings and a grey T-shirt from her wardrobe and went into the bathroom to get changed, returning wearing them with her wavy hair in a ponytail. “Ready to roll?” 

***** 

Since it was five in the afternoon, they had the gym to themselves. Sameen began working on the weights and Root used the elliptical. They worked in companiable silence, save for the radio playing quietly in the background. The gym was fairly new, with good air conditioning and coloured floodlights bathing the room in a green glow. After about five minutes, Root began coughing. Sameen put down her weights and went over to the other girl. “Are you OK?” 

Root got down off the elliptical and, holding onto the wall for support, waited until her coughing had subsided enough to allow her to speak. “I know this sounds slightly strange but could you bang on my chest?” She felt the need to cough again, but clenched her stomach muscles in an attempt to resist it. Focusing on her breathing, she subdued it into a small cough, and covered her mouth with her hand. 

Sameen waited until she wasn't coughing before speaking. “OK, yeah. What do you need me to do?” 

“So, I lie down,” began Root, lying on her back on one of the yoga mats, “then you cup your hands and bang on my chest like this.” She demonstrated. 

Sameen knelt down next to her and did as Root had shown her. “Is this too hard?” 

Root shook her head. “No, that’s perfect.” After about a minute she gestured for her to stop, rolled onto her side, coughed and spat into a tissue. 

“Thanks,” said Root breathlessly, throwing her tissue away. 

“Did that help?” asked Sameen. 

“Absolutely.” 

***** 

Root was taking a break when she caught Sameen pensively eyeing the punching bag. “Are you debating how easily you could rip that punching bag off the ceiling?” 

“No. I was debating how easily you could rip that punching bag off the ceiling.” Root looked at her in confusion. “A scrawny little thing like you needs to be able to defend herself,” said Sameen, gesturing for Root to come and stand next to her. “Place your foot here,” instructed Sameen, guiding her friend into the correct position, “and your other foot here. Make sure your weight is on the balls of your feet. Now make a fist with your thumb on the outside and draw your arm back. When you punch the bag, keep your wrist straight and follow the punch through. Got it?” 

Root swallowed. “I think so.” She took a feeble swing at the bag and it barely moved. 

“You had the right technique, you just need more power. Try again.” 

Root took a harder swing at the bag and successfully punched it. Sameen smiled at her. “Good job!” 

Root grinned back at her. “I’m going to have another go.” She got into the correct stance and swung her arm, but she miscalculated slightly and her entire body pitched forwards. She fell, caught the punching bag and somehow took the bag with her as she crashed to the ground. 

“Well,” said Sameen with a half-shrug, “at least we now know how easily you can rip that punching bag off the ceiling.” 

“Yeah, that’s a real load off,” grumbled Root as she stood up and looked at the bent metal hook jutting from the ceiling. “They really ought to have used a better style of hook. Anyway, I suggest we make a dash for it before anybody realises it was us.”   
Sameen nodded. “Agreed.” They strolled as nonchalantly as possible out of the gym, Root fighting the urge to put her hands in her pockets and whistle. On their way out, they passed a sports hall where some sort of kick-boxing class was taking place with music so loud the two girls could feel it vibrating through the floor. Sameen paused to peer through the doorway. 

“Come on,” said Root, tugging at her arm. “We need to go!” 

“But that guy’s technique is all wrong,” protested Sameen. 

Root sighed. “You can cure the world of incompetence when we are not fleeing the scene of a crime. Come on!” 

Sameen gave the sports hall one last glance over her shoulder as she allowed Root to drag her out of the building.


	3. chapter 3

“It was all Root’s idea,” said Sameen as they sat in one of the computer rooms at lunch time. Harold was the only one actually using a computer and Root was sat under the table eating a peach because apparently she could not possibly leave the room to eat and that was the only way she would not get caught. Sameen and Lionel were sat on chairs like normal human beings, Lionel finishing the last question of his math homework and Sameen with her feet resting on the table. 

“I don’t doubt that,” replied Harold grimly. 

“It’ll be fine, Harry,” Root insisted. 

“Whatever you say, Cuckoo’s Nest,” sighed Lionel. 

“See, Sameen. Lionel is on my side…” 

“Whatever,” said Sameen with an exaggerated eye-roll. “It looks like we’re going to Comic Con.” 

Root did a little victory dance, an impressive feat from under the table even though she did bang her head. 

“You should go as Fred from Angel,” added Sameen. “You look so much like her and you’re both nerds.” 

Root laughed, rubbing her head. 

“I still don’t think it’s wise,” said Harold. “It will be immensely crowded.” 

“Sameen and I will manage,” said Root. “We’re both big girls; besides she knows, like, karate or something.” 

“I see,” said Harold. 

“And other letters of the alphabet!” Root sang out. 

Sameen rolled her eyes so hard they were in danger of falling out of her head. Then she fixed Root with a death glare. “Defenestrate yourself,” she growled. 

“Sure her name’s Root, but she’s not a tree,” said Lionel in confusion. “And isn’t the word deforestation?” 

“Defenestration is the act of throwing someone out of a window,” clarified Harold. 

“Why do we even have a word for that?” asked Lionel. Root shrugged and crawled out from under the table. 

***** 

And, sure enough, when the two of them arrived at Comic Con that weekend it was immensely crowded. Hordes and hordes of people in cosplay, in regular clothes, carrying handmade weapons, you name it there was probably somebody wearing it. When the they reached the door the first thing they heard was a man Kicking Off. He was shouting, screaming and swearing, talking into his phone. Sameen shared a worried look with Root before stepping forward. “Is there a problem?” she asked him in a threatening tone, as if daring him to say there was. 

The man gestured to the phone he was holding. “I’m making a vlog to show the world how Utterly Useless this event is. Nobody can even get in because of these MASSIVE QUEUES!!” 

“Just take a deep breath,” said Sameen. “There’s no use maiming anyone over this.” 

“And now some crazy teenager is going all zen on me!” he said into his camera as if Sameen wasn’t even there. 

Root placed a hand on Sameen’s arm. “Here, let me.” She looked at the man’s phone. “What type of phone do you have? Can I see it?” 

“Um, yeah.” He hesitantly handed it to her and she quickly typed something before handing it back to him with a triumphant grin on her face. 

He tried to unlock it, but failed. “What did you do to my phone?” 

“I changed the pin. I’ll tell you what it is if you agree to stop yelling at everybody and calm down.” 

He looked from her to the phone, then back to her. Root raised her eyebrows. “Fine.” 

“3141,” she replied with a smirk. The man unlocked his phone and glared at her. 

“OK, that was kinda hot,” said Sameen as they walked away. 

***** 

As they were sat in the talk hall waiting for the Q and A to begin, Root’s head started throbbing. She took a drink from her water bottle and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. 

“Are you OK?” asked Sameen. 

“Just tired and I have a headache coming on. Not gonna lie, this is usually the time during an event where I would take a nap in the car.” 

“Take a nap here,” suggested Sameen. “Nobody would notice, they’re all too busy tweeting.” 

“That would be nice,” said Root, looking uncertainly at the empty chair next to her and being really tempted to just close her eyes. 

“Come on, you’re only small,” said Sameen. “Head in my lap, the rest of you across your seat and the one next to it.” 

Root lay down with her cheek resting on her palm on Sameen’s lap and the rest of her curled up across the seats. She closed her eyes and gave in to the exhaustion. “Thank you, Sameen,” she whispered. 

The next thing she remembered was Sameen gently poking her side. “Root, the talk is beginning,” she whispered. Root sat up and smoothed down her hair. She was feeling more awake and her headache had been reduced to an easy-to-ignore dull ache. 

After the talk, Sameen said, “I could really use something to eat. Are you hungry?” 

Root shook her head. “I don’t get hungry, thanks to my non-existent appetite. The closest I can do is not subconsciously gagging at the thought of food.” 

“Is that, like, a CF thing?” asked Sameen. 

Root shrugged. “Probably. I do have to eat twice as much as a normal person just to maintain a healthy weight.” 

“So that’s why you’re a stick,” said Sameen. 

Root laughed. “Yeah, sometimes I forget to eat.” 

Sameen’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “No!” 

“Yes.” 

Sameen shook her head slightly. “Wow. Right, I’m getting you some food this instant.” 

Root followed her to the food stall where they both got waffles. Sameen drenched hers with everything available, and Root gave hers a modest covering of maple syrup before watching Sameen devour hers like she hadn’t eaten in a month. 

“Do you want another?” asked Root. 

“If you’re offering,” replied Sameen around a mouthful of food. 

Root smiled and got up to buy her another, which she covered in toppings. 

In the time it took for Sameen to polish off her second one, Root finished her first and, after a quick mental calculation, decided that two pills should cover it and checked her watch to see if she was due any other medication. 

“Are you ready to head home?” asked Root. 

***** 

They caught the train home, then went their separate ways for the evening. Or, for the next few hours at any rate. Root was laid on her bed reading when her phone chimed. She rolled on to her stomach to get it from her nightstand. It was a text from Sameen reading ‘4 alarmfirr park’. Judging from the typos it had to have been sent without her looking. It was a code they had agreed on back in the day, if either of them were ever in trouble. Root climbed off her bed and pulled on her boots. As she raced downstairs she shrugged on her leather jacket and made a beeline for the living room. Waiting for her dad to look at her she stood next to the television. When she had his attention she signed, “I’m going to see S-A-M-E-E-N.” Her dad nodded.   
In the garage she donned a helmet and hung a spare on the handlebars of her bike and rode as fast as possible towards the park. Soon she could make out several figures in the dim light. One was unmistakably Sameen, another a boy from their school she recognised as Peter Collier, and another boy she didn’t know. As she approached she could see a bruise forming on Sameen’s cheek and something caught in her throat. Peter took a step towards Sameen and Root pulled the breaks, coming to a stop with one foot up on the curb. She took her helmet off with a flourish before calling, “Hey, Sameen. Need a ride?” 

Her friend visibly relaxed and ran towards Root, hopping up onto the bars either side of the back wheel. Root tossed Sameen a helmet and put hers back on. “Safety first. Ready?”   
Sameen placed her hands on Root’s shoulders for balance and the two of them rode off into the sunset. 

They had almost made it back to the Groves residence when Root let out a little shriek and braked so hard her butt slid off the seat. Sameen wobbles but managed not to fall off. “What is it?” she asked worriedly. 

Root fumbled with the strap and took of her helmet. “There’s a bee in my helmet!” Sure enough, a fat yellow bee flew out of her upturned helmet. 

Sameen laughed. “How on earth did that happen?” 

Root eyed her helmet distrustfully. “I have no idea.” She cautiously put it back on and cycled the rest of the way home. When they were safely in Root’s bedroom she gave Sameen an ice pack. “Thanks for saving my ass back there,” said Sameen. 

“No problem. I figured you could have taken those guys easily but they weren’t worth getting a restraining order over.” 

Sameen smiled and held the ice pack to her cheek, wincing slightly. 

Root gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” 

“Don’t be, there was nothing you could have done.” 

“Why did he punch you anyway?” 

Sameen didn’t reply, instead waved a hand to indicate it didn’t matter. 

Root shifted closer to her. “You know whatever it is you can tell me, right?” 

Sameen lowered her ice pack. “He was just being a jerk, didn’t like it that I was made athlete of the year. Apparently girls don't deserve that sort of thing.” 

Root bit her bottom lip. 

Sameen continued, “he ran into me on the street with a friend and wanted to fight, but I refused and you can see the result of that decision.” 

Root gently pulled Sameen into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re OK.”


End file.
